A. Hargrove

The line between love and hate has never been so explosive. I'd been dreading my flight back to the U.K. after a much needed visit home. But meeting Alessandro made the trip a hell of a lot better. He was sexy. Gorgeous. Italian. Exactly what I needed to forget the constant ache in my chest. We lost ourselves in one another during those long hours in the air. He was a dream come true. I couldn't have been more wrong when the following day brought a very different fate. Professor whatever his name was had changed from the man I'd met on the plane. This version was cold. Arrogant. Rude ... and introduced a new level of torture into my life. The role reversal didn't last. A chink in my armor appeared in the form of a three-foot miniature version of the man I'd grown to despise. Alessandro's son was his complete opposite. In no time at all, I was wrapped around his pinkie. Too bad that didn't change my feelings toward his father. Until I discovered Alessandro wasn't exactly who he portrayed himself to be. Someone else was buried beneath his rude exterior. When the real Alessandro emerged, so did the passion. Sometimes the most unforgettable love stories are the result of the greatest tragedies.

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